


Counterbalance

by Clarice Chiara Sorcha (claricechiarasorcha)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, assholes in love, based on art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 19:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12153594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claricechiarasorcha/pseuds/Clarice%20Chiara%20Sorcha
Summary: They are equal, and opposite....or maybe, they're just exactly the same.





	Counterbalance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeusus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeusus/gifts).



> The other day @jeusus put up [the most amazing piece of art](http://jeusus.tumblr.com/post/165527535073/hux-coming-first-and-ren-flipping-them-over-and) while I was dicking around on twitter, and...whoops. My brain short-circuited, and then eventually gave me this rough and ready piece of fic. I actually wanted it to be somewhat softer than this, in keeping with the picture description, but...I just love the two of them arguing their way through sex. gdi. <3

Ren knows when he returns, but he makes no effort to go to the hangar where the transport has long since landed. He also makes no attempt to contact the general, either by comm or by Force. Instead, he waits. Ren has never been patient. But he knows how to bide his time, when it matters.

It’s always something of a task to actually surprise the general. But now, when Hux strides into his quarters and barks out an order for the lights to come to seventy percent, he pulls up short with a suddenness too sharp to be intentional. Ren cannot help the smile now creeping across his features, slow and self-satisfied.

Already Hux moves his attention to the opened viewports, stripping off his gloves, shrugging the greatcoat away. “What are you doing in here?”

Ren shifts upon the low couch only enough to shrug. “Waiting for you.”

And still he doesn’t turn back, eyes firmly across the room. “I’m going to bed.”

“All the better.”

“To _sleep_.” Now he does look back to Ren, pale features even more so in the lowered light. “Unlike some people, I don’t build my schedules around sex.” But for all it would be more dramatic for him to do so, Hux does not disappear, not yet. Instead he prompts, more command than suggestion, “Good _night_ , Ren.”

In return he only stares, utterly unmoving. With a snort, Hux finally turns; already Ren regains his feet, almost silent as he crosses the floor between them. Hux hasn’t the time to slam the door in his face, much as the gesture would have meant little enough. All he has left is to ignore Ren as he follows him into the small attached room, one dominated by a bed and little else. They are command quarters, and said bed could be shared, even if the space it provides is hardly what Ren would classify as generous. Still he sits himself there even as Hux keeps going. The sound of water running in the ‘fresher comes a moment later, the general apparently enjoying a moment of clear luxury. In turn Ren closes his eyes, breathes deep, slips back into the half-meditation of but moments ago.

He can wait. He knows all about waiting.

“ _Ren_.” Hux’s voice has him slowly looking up, head tilting in curious slow question. And Hux says, sharper yet, “Get _out_ of my quarters.”

In his robe he stands silhouetted in the doorway, hair damp, lips twisted in a scowl. Ren says nothing, though he knows his features will never be the impassive mask his helmet permits them to otherwise become. Barely a moment passes before Hux snorts, rolling his eyes; to another, he might seem disinterested, but Ren can taste the sharp-sweet scent of arousal upon the air. In the shower, Hux hadn’t touched himself save for what was necessary. But of course it had not been enough. It could never be enough.

“Well, if you’re going to be like this, then fine.” Raising a hand, Hux drops it again in sharp sweep across the bed where Ren still waits. “Take your clothes off. I want to go to sleep, and I haven’t got all evening for your nonsense.”

There’s anger, there, and frustration, but – both of these things are constantly in Hux, even when he pretends they are not. There are many things that Hux has been taught, in the service of the Order, but Ren often thinks Hux has no idea that this mask is the greatest of those achievements.

And he envies him, that. For all Snoke has so long attempted to teach him some modicum of self-control, Ren is perfectly aware that the tempest of rage simmering always beneath his surface is far more useful to them both. But there’s still shame, in it – one indoctrinated since young childhood. When his mother would look at him with sad dark eyes. When his father would just look away.

Ren shoves those thoughts back even as he strips himself bare, unashamed of his body. He’s never had much confidence in his facial features. And yet, even before Hux had first looked upon him with lust, Ren had understood the appeal of long limbs, and of lean muscles. Perhaps his mind would never learn discipline, but he’s always been able to slave his body to it as necessary.

When he is naked, clothes scattered, Ren turns back to the bed. Hux has already dug lubricant from the drawers beside the bed, is propped up against the headboard; with eyes closed, the pale eyelashes lay like lace over high cheekbones. A twist of a naked wrist, and Ren’s eyes shift sharply downward, caught upon it. Such an unusual sight, given the blue-veined skin is usually layered under black leather.

“Ren.” A sharp jab of his hand, and Hux gives a jerk of his chin. It doesn’t mask his hitching gasp. “Get over here.”

On the bed, on all fours, he’s moving towards him like some great beast of prey. But Hux is withdrawing his fingers with a glistening quick flick, and then he shifts his slight weight as if he has no mass at all.

“No. On your back.” He’s up on his own knees, thin white creature with a shock of golden-red hair. It should be ridiculous, and yet he is perfect command when he says, “We do this my way.”

Reclining back, shifting his hips far more than necessary to make them comfortable, Ren actually laughs outright. “You think that’s a punishment, for me?”

“I’m long beyond believing anyone knows how to punish you.” It’s almost a miracle, that he doesn’t cross his arms over his chest in a schoolteacher’s disapproval. “Do you want this or not?”

The answer given: one broad hand, fingers tracing over the long length of his cock in a lazy pump. Against his will, those blue-green eyes follow the movement; not even Hux has skill enough to hide the hunger there. Sometimes Ren wonders what the general’s underlings would think, should they ever discover how easily Hux turns to a slavering fool for dick. But those eyes flick up, as if reading Ren’s opened mind – and there’s both cunning and calculation there, and Ren knows it’s not that easy.

But then, he has never wanted it to be.

Hands, strange in their strength, come down upon on his shoulders; they thrust him back, are then drawn away with a deliberate scrape of nails. Ren can’t be sure Hux realises his lips are pulled back over his teeth, animalistic and taut. But there’s a surety to the way his hands brace on his abdomen, the edge of one thumbnail catching on the sensitive ring of his navel; even as it draws a hissing breath from Ren’s lips, Hux rolls his eyes again.

“Am I being too slow, perhaps?”

“Isn’t this all about _you_?” Ren asks, so sweet. And Hux snarls, reaches back, presses the thickness of Ren’s cock against the seam of his own ass. There it slips between, snug in the warm shallow heat of his crack – and with his fingers he keeps it pressed there as he moves up, down, experimental.

“I shouldn’t reward you for this behaviour,” he says, almost thoughtful; Ren raises an eyebrow at the hard flushed heat of Hux’s own dick, bobbing against his abdomen.

“But what about your own reward?”

A snort, and Hux rises up on those thin white thighs, so misleading in their delicacy. Ren would not put it past him to snap necks with them. But then, that’s always been half the pleasure of having them around his own head, when he’s sucked that lovely long cock down deep.

The head of his own cock presses now against the still-tight ring of muscle; always this is the moment where this seems impossible, that they will never fit against one another. Then, the slow slide begins; Hux’s scowl and clenched jaw both tighten almost to breaking, and he’s drifting down. The slim back arches taut as he takes him, hips tilting forward and pale wrists turned to Ren as his ass comes to rest in the cradle of his thighs. With head thrown back, his neck works in slow stuttering swallow. Ren’s eyes trail down the length of it, to the rise and fall of his narrow chest. He cannot choose between them: the jumping pulse in his throat, the tenseness in the small soft curve of his belly.

Something like a chuckle rumbles through his own chest, and Ren jolts his hips up. Unseated, Hux’s hands shoot out, steady himself before he can fall. Then he’s snarling, looking up – and then he’s over, forward, hands fisting in his hair.

“Stop it.”

Ren does it again, though in this position all it does is push himself deeper. “I thought you wanted to sleep.” And Ren pushes again, catches the gasp as his fat cockhead presses where Hux desires it most. “You’re taking so _long_.”

They stay this for a long moment, a moment of battle caught on the trip of a holo-transmission. And then Hux lets go, pushes back. It’s entirely wordless, when he begins his rise and fall. But the motion alone is a kind of music, to Ren: the way Hux shifts on him with a rolling of hips, a tightening of muscle. And he’s watching every emotion that flickers across Ren’s face, studious and unrelenting, as demanding a commander here as he is upon the bridge.

But he cannot be unaffected. Ren can see it: in the catch of breath, the tremor of muscle in thigh, the flex of forearm. Even his back, so trained to the straight line of a commanding officer, cannot hold his head high for long. Bending forward, bright hair at last slides free of the strict pomade, lines of his face beginning to shift into unbridled curves of blurred pleasure.

He has resisted touching him, until now. To do it too soon would be to end the game; it would not be beyond Hux, to take himself off Ren’s cock and send him away. It would be nothing for him to leave them both unfinished, both aching and unsatisfied. But he’s slipping, now, eyes closed and mouth loosened around a moan. In answer Ren shifts his hands to Hux’s waist, bunching up the robe, pulling it away from where cock disappears into ass. The recycled air is cool against the heat of their joining, and he gasps, pulls tight on the belt.

Above him, Hux’s movements turn quicker, less rhythmic. A moment more and he’s coming, bent forward, teeth against Ren’s skin with hot breath rasping behind them. There’s something odd in the half-smothered whisper that might have been words. Hux speaks Arkanian, Ren knows, for all he’s never heard him do so. But there’s – _something_ , there. A lilt, rhotic consonants: the rich cynicism of a world lost to a child long since stolen from it.

But it’s gone, then, even as Hux shivers, shaking as if he cannot let his body give over to the avalanche of sensation that now threatens to tear him all to pieces. The urge to close his hands about his upper arms comes strong: to demand Hux still, to demand he just let go. But instead Ren allows Hux to sink down into his lap; even his dick leaks the last of his come over his own stomach, Ren’s cock remains hard in his ass. Hux doesn’t appear to care, face turned upward to the half-light of his own quarters. The lean body shifts again with faint spasm, warm and fierce above him.

And then slowly Hux opens his eyes, looks lazily down to where Ren still lays beneath. “…oh, you’re still here?”

A flick upwards and he’s unbalanced, falling forward. Before Hux can say anything, Ren grabs him, pulls him close, dick pressed between their stomachs. Though he’s now on his back, hands flung up and over his head, he allows his eyes to hood in perfectly feigned disinterest.

Ren’s own dick has not fallen out. He pushes it a little deeper even as he rises over him, their chests aligned, mouths but moments away. A raised eyebrow, and Hux challenges him yet again. “Are you done, yet?”

A snort, and Ren sits back on his heels; it’s the easiest of motions to press lean thighs wide, shoving Hux’s knees up by his shoulders. The robe remains yet, though it has loosened enough now to frame his chest, and the flush of the still-stiffened nipples. Struck with sudden desire, Ren must fight the urge to lean down, to take one between his teeth, to bite _hard_. But he looks at those sleepy eyes, instead. There is nowhere else to go.

Holding his legs up, Ren again presses deep – and then: forward. A brief flash of surprise flickers across Hux’s face, but does not lean his full weight upon him. Balanced on his own arms, Ren never breaks their gaze. Though his own release has already been taken, Ren can see the fresh sensation beginning to thrum through Hux’s overwrought nerves; above the fallen sleeves of his robe, his fingers twitch, but do not quite form into fists.

And yet, general has never one to back down from a challenge. The dig of sharp heels into the sides of Ren’s buttocks may even hard enough to actually bruise. And Hux still meets his gaze, though his expression is beginning to fail him. Even as he wrests it back under control, he loses it again; it has Ren working his hips harder, his own pleasure rising, but never quite cresting.

“Ren?”

“What?”

But nothing follows. Hux only stares. It should be too soon – it _is_ too soon. But Hux’s dick is impossibly rising to half-hardness, again. Above it, Hux swallows with difficulty, breath quickening on another gasp. Ren’s always found it peculiar, how chameleon-like his features can be. Sometimes, Hux can look like an entirely different person.

“Ren,” he says, and though he’s trying to snap there’s something almost alarmed in those widening eyes, “Ren, what are you _looking_ at?”

“You.” He does not smile. He does not look away. He only stares, deep and dark. “I’m looking at _you_.”

His mouth half-opens on a protest, on something almost panicked; he’s always so argumentative, even when his upbringing ought to have taught him otherwise. But then, it’s necessary for him to be of use to the Order, to be an effective commander. Yet it is also the thing that had alienated him from his father. That’s the vicious irony of it: that the qualities which made him general are also those that ensured his father’s approval would remain forever out of his grasping reach.

But Hux is here, now. And Ren’s fingers press up against his skin as he draws a grunting breath, thrusts hard enough that all half-formed words are pushed out of Hux’s chest in sudden cry. He’s almost bending him in half, now, shoving him up against the pillows that have rucked up at his back. And Ren cannot resist: he drops his shoulders, pressing their mouths together, drinking deep of something Hux hadn’t intended to give.

There he pauses on the kiss, cock pulsing, not quite at the point of release. He could move, could push himself to climax – and yet, suddenly, all he wants is to stay still. To not move. To simply _be._ Only when Hux bites down does Ren rear back, coming with a cry as blood spatters between them.

It’s barely more than half over when he looks down at Hux, breathing hard, peripheral vision still sparking with white and red. Pressing his teeth down upon the ragged edge of his lip, he thrusts again, pushing his own come deeper into Hux. The movement startles him, slim body arching, eyes wide. But before he can speak, Ren takes his mouth, frantic and demanding.

But it slows as the shudders begin to fade, as the sparks fade from nerves and heart. And Hux allows it, even as Ren rolls to his side, pulling him close. Sleep already threatens – Ren had not rested well in those nights alone, and he has no intention of rising now.

Even as his own body gives over to sleep, he can feel the tension in Hux’s own. It doesn’t surprise him that he rises, the door of the ‘fresher clicking closed in his wake, and not a word said as the lights dim to nothing. When he returns, Ren only hears him move across the fresh darkness of his room.

But when Hux slips between the sheets, it’s naked skin that presses against Ren’s own. If he opens his eyes, Ren might even see something of it: ghost-pale against the black. But it doesn’t matter. He keeps his eyes closed, moves closer, falls still.

It’s better now to stay here in the dark, where they both belong.


End file.
